Walk-out

the lead actor could not sing. I was not the lead and I didn't pretend I could sing. the piece was in 4 and 13 bars in, I felt like latching onto your neck like a leech and whispering for us to get out of the opera hall. what disturbed me was the dissonance which reminded me too much of us. we had graphite-colored conversations almost like they were salads of undressed greens.

we left. an echo of an F# escaped into the corridor when you held the door for me. still with the tune in my head, I drank some water, bowing my head to lean into the fountain. paint chips looked like misplaced music notes. as the curtain fell, ending the second act, you put your arm around my waist, offering passionately but redundantly to take me away. yes, I said, I'll leave this song behind.